ABSTRACT
December of 2006, I waited in a hotel room in Ramallah for a phone call that would set up a meeting that might lead to another meeting. This was what I was in Palestine for, against the advice of friends and family. The wait was long, and for the most part boring, interspersed with moments of anxiety and doubt about my own sanity. I thought about the fact that, in spite of half a century of peace talks, accords, cease-fires, and UN resolutions, this conflict endures. There is still an armed resistance in Palestine, and I was about to meet them.
